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Difficulty, my brethren, is the nurse of greatness - a harsh nurse, who roughly rocks her foster children into strength and athletic proportion.

William C. Bryant

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William C. Bryant
Strength
Athletic
Children
Harsh
Nurse
Proportion
Adversity
Difficulty
Roughly
Greatness
Foster
Rocks
Brethren

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Ah, never shall the land forget How gush'd the life-blood of the brave, Gush'd warm with hope and courage yet, Upon the soil they fought to save!
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Eloquence is the poetry of prose.
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The little wind-flower, whose just opened eye Is blue as the spring heaven it gazes at.
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Showers and sunshine bring, Slowly, the deepening verdure o'er the earth To put their foliage out, the woods are slack, And one by one the singing-birds come back.
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Still sweet with blossoms is the year's fresh prime.
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Ah! never shall the land forget.
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Stand here by my side and turn, I pray, On the lake below thy gentle eyes The clouds hang over it, heavy and gray, And dark and silent the water lies And out of that frozen mist the snow In wavering flakes begins to flow Flake after flake, They sink in the dark and silent lake.
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Fairest of all that earth beholds, the hues That live among the clouds, and flush the air, Lingering, and deepening at the hour of dews.
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The mighty Rain Holds the vast empire of the sky alone.
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Or, bide thou where the poppy blows With windflowers fail and fair.
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Gently - so have good men taught - Gently, and without grief, the old shall glide Into the new the eternal flow of things, Like a bright river of the fields of heaven, Shall journey onward in perpetual peace.
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The melancholy days are come, the saddest of the year, Of wailing winds, and naked woods and meadows brown and sear.
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The breath of springtime at this twilight hour Comes through the gathering glooms, And bears the stolen sweets of many a flower Into my silent rooms.
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Flowers spring up unsown and die ungathered.
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Poetry is that art which selects and arranges the symbols of thought in such a manner as to excite the imagination the most powerfully and delightfully.
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Yet will that beauteous image make The dreary sea less drear And thy remembered smile will wake The hope that tramples fear
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A stable, changeless state, 'twere cause indeed to weep.
William C. Bryant
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Here the free spirit of mankind, at length, Throws its last fetters off and who shall place A limit to the giant's unchained strength, Or curb his swiftness in the forward race?
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The groves were God's first temple. Ere man learned To hew the shaft, and lay the architrave, And spread the roof above them,--ere he framed The lofty vault, to gather and roll back The sound of anthems in the darkling wood, Amidst the cool and silence, he knelt down And offered to the Mightiest solemn thanks And supplication.
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Glorious are the woods in their latest gold and crimson.
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